


In The Shallows

by schadenfreude (solitariusvirtus)



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-10-16 18:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/schadenfreude
Summary: A common cause may bring the bitterest of enemies together. Compassion may seal the strongest of bonds. If one possesses said common cause and a hint of compassion is another matter altogether. But perhaps not all is lost, for what is will change, inevitable, and sometimes it may even do so for the better. The Chosen Undead is, most importantly, willing to try.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her fingers gripped the sprite. The careful hold she exerted on her coveted finding did not lessen even as she secured it quite firmly to her chest. For the moment, her only concern boiled down to smoothing a path down the shard-like form. A smile flickered upon her face, gentle, ephemeral product of joy. Well, not precisely joy. Mayhap relief. Indeed, more like relief, she decided, storing the humanity away.

She rose, leaving the corpse slumped over in all its rotting glory. “Thank you, my friend.” She’d long since stopped using any other line on these unfortunate victims of circumstance. It was useless. And there was no chance they’d answer in kind. She’d best save her words for the occasional pilgrim one encountered.

There were not many of those. In fact, she’d not encountered one for she could not remember how long. Or was it simply that she could no longer tell one day from another; a soft sigh left her lips. Her eyes darted to the corpse, involuntarily tracing the remnants. The dispassionate perusal kept her firmly planted in that one spot those few moments longer it took for her mind to wander. As thoughts were wont to do they scattered whichever way.    

For a brief moment, she allowed thoughts of home to be entertained, muddled though they were. In truth they seemed more like dreams than memories, foggy, the threat of uncertainty looming over the collection of blurred images. Once they had been clear to her. Once, what a wistful word that was, much used in song. Her lips quirked. Songs she could remember better. For all that was worth, the words were ingrained in her mind, as though someone had thought to burn them there. Some teacher, she suspected, for the words had been her constant companion undoubting and undaunted both in the face of the arduous journey. It must have been someone concerned with the flightiness of time, wanting to anchor it. But time was too great a vessel. Mayhap she ought to have said as much.

Long enough, her mind snapped. The end might not come but in some distant future, until such a time, though, she would continue on her journey. One last glance towards the mean creature at her feet and she was moving, ever forward. That was the only possible route. And she'd tried, the gods knew she had, to find some other way. For whatever reason all paths but this were closed to her. Gates had sealed shut behind her the moment she sprang to second life. No matter how hard she strained and how far she ran 'twas only this cursed land which embraced her.

In the end, one had little choice but to bow to the dictates of fate whose grip did not lessen even beyond its realm. Greedy mistress and fickle besides, she mused, dusting herself off with slow motions. To have such power. Alas, 'twas not to be and not a one person had yet bested fortune’s whims.

Looking up at the skies, she met the shallow shine of a sickly sun. The beams shot towards the ground, light vaguely warm. Better than naught. Anything was better than nothing at all. A gentle gale glided past, raking its fingers through tall blades of grass. There was little scent on the breeze beyond that of dust. Perhaps if the rain should come falling down. Nay; no chance of such.

Not that rain would be particularly helpful. The road was difficult enough to track without mud to cling to the soles of her footwear. Still, the cadence of continual movement would alleviate some of the monotony choking the realm. Drops hurtling towards the ground in unerring constancy; so very much like her. It would be something to feel; something to hear. With the added benefit that the flesh she was trapped in allowed for prolonged exposure. Small mercies; should one wish to consider such a mercy. But that was highly debatable.

And she’d tarried long enough. Habit kicked in and she drew her cloak tighter around her, despite there not being any imminent threat. Nevertheless, she’d found what she had come for. Any further delays would ensure only grief.  

She walked, keeping a steady stream of internal conversation. This habit she’d picked up what seemed like ages past; in the days when conversation was not difficult to come by, she imagined, she had no need of the skill. Yet here, where the only other being she could share her loneliness with was herself, it paid to entertain these moments on contemplation. Even better if done with a touch of levity and a healthy dose of humility; those were the only cures she knew for creeping darkness lurking just beneath the surface, lying in wait. Tempted though she was to call it cowardice, to attribute even the slightest trace of intention to a pestilence was quite possibly not the road she wanted to travel upon.

Topics of conversation remained plentiful even without an attempt on her part to categorise the pest. She concentrated on the tall grass and the stones scattered about, she touched upon the subject of clouds and fog and, while she admitted privately that the subjects carried little by way of allure, made a promise to herself that she would not be dissuaded from broaching them simply on those grounds. For, indeed, though one knew the great tales by heart at a certain age, one never grew tired of hearing them. If it should hold for one category surely it would hold for the other as well. With that in mind she pressed further, taking comfort in the familiar circularity of the monologue, sighing contently when it brought her back to the starting point. Just the way she liked it.

The tip of her boot sent a large pebble hurtling forth. She paused, her foot elevated aboveground. The pebble bounced to the side, fading out of sight as green grass embraced it. Her foot came down. It hadn’t travelled far, of course, and should she wish it, she could easily retrieve it. Why do something like that though? If she was as she was why be alone in her state?

The pebble remained lost as her feet carried her farther and farther away. This road she was familiar enough with that her eyes paid it little mind and her mind even less. And still she ended up at the bonfire, all in one piece, not a hair out of place.

Her return was remarked upon by the forlorn warrior. “Come back have you?” the man questioned. “Replete with treasures. Although what need you’ll have of them when you turn hollow, I know not. Don’t let that stop you.” He chuckled.

Instead of answering him straight away, she placed her satchel upon the ground and sat before the fire, seeking a comfortable position. “I never do. The exercise is useful besides.” She’d long since stopped needling him to come with. The man would not be moved. It was his wish to grow hollow, and she’d never been one to impede others in their quests.

Her companion made a sharp sound, akin to a snort. It occurred to her that he might finally exert himself into an argument if nothing else. No such luck, he remained silent as she rummaged through her possessions. “Anyone new travelled these parts?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” the warrior answered. “Perhaps you should return to the Asylum and seek out this company you so need.” Despite the harshness of the statement, she failed to detect malice behind his words.

“Nay; indeed, the last of my company in those parts is long gone.” The only person of sense she’d met had left only a shield of himself. And, to herself, she could admit to herself, he’d also left a sense of gratitude within her. Repaying him by releasing him from his curse was not precisely what she’d consider a fair trade. But then, there was nothing else she could give him, besides complying with his request.

She would return a third time to the Asylum. To her mind all those months she’d spent locked away  and her subsequent return were more than enough to ensure she did not wish to reside among brethren who’d lost themselves or were about to lose themselves. There was, after all, something to be said of all the hopelessness permeating those walls. So dark and cold, she shivered just pondering it.

What she ought to do was return to Anor Londo. Solaire was quite possibly still seeking out his very own sun. Certainly all the talk would drive her mad, but the good sort. And she liked Solaire well enough. That knight was a cut above the usual Undead one found. Who knew, she might even aid him in his quest if it came to that.

After? There always was the question of _what after_. It ever quite faded from her mind, no matter many times over she told herself a steady stream of goals was what she needed. There was only one answer. Only one which satisfied. Certainly one could choose to succumb. She had no plans to do so. Death was preferable. After that or before it even, she would do well to make use of the Lordvessel soon to be in her possession and fulfil the prophecy. If it was within her power.

Her fingers curled around the rounded edge of a ring she’d found amid the bundled belongings. She lifted it from its place and admired the shine by the warm light of the fire. There was nothing special about the ring. She had brought it along on her journey out of sheer perversity, an indomitable desire to cling to one remnant of a bygone age, she supposed. Turning it between her fingers she read the words which had been inscribed upon its inner side. The smile stealing across her lips was not so much a rendition of earlier sentiment as it was remembrance of irrefutable proof witnessed time and again that those words, at best, were misleading.              

That settled it. She would return to Anor Londo and seek out the Lordvessel once more. The ring between her fingers grew heavier than before. She slipped it onto one fingers and spread her fingers out. The light still stroked the golden band, but at least the words were out of sight. Out of mind; not so much. She suspected it might take a few more death for her to forget that. Once forgotten she could simply throw it away, she supposed. There was some comfort in that. The embrace of the token grew bothersome before long. She took it off without much regret and deposited in its initial location, drawing a tattered piece of cloth over it, effectively hiding its existence away. Satisfied, she stretched her limb out overhead. There was no stiffness to speak of, but the feeling was still pleasant enough to merit the exertion on her part. With the same careless motion she brought down her arms and rolled her shoulders a couple of times.

She debated making use of her humanity. But then she’d kept herself in good enough shape that she could afford going without for some time yet. Might be she’d have need of it at a later time. She climbed to her feet, instinct taking over.

Her actions did not go unnoticed. The silent warrior looked up from, disrupted in his musings. “Had quite enough of it already, haven’t you?”

Realisation struck her. A chuckle spilled past her lips. “Sitting still for long periods at a time has never been my strength. I do not see why that should change even in this strange land.” He nodded, bracing his hands upon his knees, but gave no further indication that he wished to continue their dialogue.

Thus, she turned around, with a notion that a short walk would be just the thing before she settled in for a lengthier rest. Her feet trod over the already-bent-grass pathway with much care, mind picking up on those small sounds one rarely heard when not actively seeking them out. The crickets seemed to be in a jaunty mood, playing a jolly jig for the enjoyment of anyone who cared to listen.         

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frankly, I can't believe I'm doing this. But since I said I'd give it a try, here goes.
> 
> On the off change that you've actually reached this point and are reading this, I am doing this for a bit of fun, and mostly to familiarise myself with the world. In consequence, please, be gentle with me.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ken thou what mirable sight the mountant moon presents?” She paused at the manner of address. ‘Twas not oft she heard the poetic tongue. Her head cocked to the side and she bowed to the well-dressed man. He looked a merchant. He spoke with the silver-tongue of a well-bred gallant. The camlet he wore was a fine, costly thing, no doubt made for one of his betters, with the silver thread sown into it. Little wonder he’d not met his end for it. Mayhap he was just arrived. “Quoth thou no word? Maiden, I beseech thee.”

“Thy speech heartily embellished doth touch me so. Alas, I ken thee not and can but little in parting return.” He did not look hollow, though his speech be ancient. More suited to the halls of some great lord, or a lesser lordling, she reckoned, eyeing him still with thinly disguised interest. “Thou art, methinks, in no hurry. Not all are so blessed.”

He chuckled and patted the boulder next to his. “Thou art cruel.” By the smile he bore, she knew she’d slain him with something other than the sharp blade of her dagger. Upper lip curled backwards, a fine row of teeth came in sight. At least she knew he was only searching for company. Company which, he mayhap assumed, she’d be willing to give.

“That I am,” she agreed with little bite. “Seeketh a drab, or better yet some fair pussel, thou’s be better served.” A low whistle filled the area. Her hand headed for the hilt of her arm, a warning and a promise. The man held his hands up, palms facing her.

“Though mistaketh my meaning. Indeed, thou art free to leave unmolested.” He might have simply missed the shrine, she considered, releasing her hold and stepping past him. True to his word, she encountered no hostilities on his part.

Still, the very fact that a man of fair apparel waited to fall upon unsuspecting creature boded ill for the area. One did not need much knowledge to conjure at least an explanation or two, neither complimentary. Were she in possession of more time she might have considered seeking the end of the abundantly applied charm. As matters stood, she simply hurried along the path, with a mind to return sometime in the future, should she have the chance. Meantime, her attention rested on reaching those ruins and not being jumped.

Which inevitably had to set fates against her and assure that she was, in fact, met with a rather annoying but effective block. Namely a congregation of hollows, all gathered together to witness some deed of greatness she assumed on the part of a brethren. The reason was less important than the result at any rate and she managed to dodge a spear thrust her way, twisting her body with a grunt.

Her elbow crashed into a hard surface, bone crunching under the pressure. Since her bones were in good condition, she elected to pull out of the way, unsheathing her sword as she retreated. The mid-arch she swept cut into one of her enemies, blood spurting from the wound she inflicted. Unfortunately, her insignificant victory came at the price of a direct hit from a second foe lunging for her. He caught her upper arm, the sting of a sharp kiss sending a flurry of shivers to the tips of her fingers. Her sword, meantime, was stuck in the flesh of her first victim, this she had little choice but to slam her body against the hollow’s. The leaner frame gave way; she sent him a few steps back, knee shooting up in a gut-wrenching hit.

The third member of the small party chose that specific moment to aid his companions. But she had somehow managed to free her blade and brought it down with the teeming force of a desperate manoeuvre down upon the lately involved hollow, splitting him from crown to gut when his momentum pushed him in the path of the descent.

Knowing it would take much too long to pry the sword loose a second time, she reached for her dagger, jumping at the swaying hollow closest to her. This one was prepared for her, though, and he caught her injured arm, squeezing mercilessly. A howl of pain settled upon her lips, vision swimming. Instinctively, she attempted to loosen his fingers. That only encouraged more pressure on the other’s part. As she was struggling to free herself, the faithful helper attacked from behind.

Her dagger stabbed violently into the frontal enemy and her head knocked back onto what she hoped was the face of an angry hollow. Arm wrapped around her waist, hoisting her. Elevated, all purchase lost to her, she bent knee and drew her legs waist-ward before sending both feet crashing into the chest of the hollow with a dagger in his throat.

Happily, that sent the one holding her tumbling backwards. She fell as well, landing upon the writhing form, though she might have wished for a less contact-optimal option. Rolling out of the way, she landed on the injured shoulder, teeth clenching tightly together to hold in a scream. There was no time to play the hurt doe.

Moments later, she was upon her feet, springing for the dagger.

The last of her adversaries was close behind. She could hear the grass blades bending beneath the additional weight. Her hand reached out, fingers stretching in an exaggerated gesture even as the distance was yet sufficiently closed. Neither would it be.

A powerful grip on her ankle disturbed her balance, enough so that she found herself hurtling towards the ground. Hands shot out to take the brunt of the impact. It did little to protect her injured shoulder, or indeed to advance the achievement of her goal. She kicked backwards, foot meeting a wall of flesh and bone. She gave a second kick. The pressure upon her ankle did not lessen. For the third time, she planted the heel of her boot firmly against what she perceived to be a wide forehead.

Released from the manacle of flesh, she inelegantly pressed forth, rolling through the distance between herself and the corpse in possession of her weapon. This time, her fingers did meet the hilt and she dragged the blade out of the home it’d made for itself.             

The last of the challengers was upon her within a moment’s notice, but she, having expected as much, turned the blade heavenwards and simply allowed the nameless hollow to fall, face-first upon it. Much screeching assaulted her ears. Doing her best not to mind, she removed the blade, simultaneously sending the writhing bag of bones falling to the side. In the throes of death, it trashed and twisted, fingers clawing at the gaping wound. Sooner or later, the end would come.

For herself, she climbed upon shaky feet. Her fingers pressed upon the cut she’d received. It stung fiercely. She had not expected any different. Drawing her fingers away she inspected the bloodstains. Given that she was still on her feet, it might well be that death would wait awhile longer before claiming her once more.

Digging around in her satchel, her fingers brushed against a fair few objects before she found the one which interested her. Hauling it out, she uncorked the Estus flask and downed its contents in a few long gulps. The rushing of liquid down her throat caused her to cough, droplets of falling to the ground. The taste was neither unpleasant, nor pleasant. She supposed that made it a mere faded adequate.      

The contents of the flask drained, she stuffed the small contained back in her satchel. Nails scraping against the uneven ridges. All the better to assure herself it was a draught she’d taken and not something else. Her relief lasted, impeded by nothing. Given her recent stroke of luck, she decided against lingering. Instead, she used her newly-healed body to inspect the three corpses and retrieve her weapons.

There was little they had upon them which might interest her. She took what she could get her hands on. Perhaps she could trade them or offer them to another undead desirous of possessing such items. Thus what she perceived as useful she picked up and wrapped in a small bundle she created from a tattered cloak, holding it under her arm. Having secured all that she wished to take with her, she left the three corpses in her wake, contented with the fact that her revenge had been swift from the ambush.

Without the bother of rogues attempting to fleece her, she also took the time to examine the scar she knew had formed upon her arm. If she should die and be granted yet another life, she supposed it too would fade. The draught she’d downed, however, sealed the wound, leaving behind a silvery-thin line. As though many moons had passed. Not that she complained overly much. It was rather useful. If anything it was among the most useful things she’d encountered in her existence.

Satisfied that her wound showed no signs of improper healing, she continued on her, if not merry than at the very least willingly-chosen, way. She hummed under her breath, not truly knowing which song it was. The verses were a blur, which suited her well enough.

By the time she reached the ring of light the sun seemed to be mid-flight kin its descent towards the ground. She knelt to inspect the ring, not paying much mind to the ball of fire, working on fitting the smaller bundle into the satchels as she did so. After all this time, she wondered why it was that she simply did not wait to be conveyed on her feet. Alas, ‘twas the way to do it and who was she to deny tradition its due.

Long claws wrapped around her shoulders, sliding underneath her arms, tugging her upwards like a child might a rag-doll. She fought to relax her body. They would not drop her. She’d done it before, she could do it again, and again, and again. Presumably until the end of days, or the end of her days upon which her mind would turn to a heap of moss and leave her a brainless beast wandering the land. And with her good fortune she would certainly be felled by an undead happening by.

She chuckled at the thought. She’d slain her fair share of hollows. And the fate was not truly a surprising end. One could not help but hear all the prophecies. For the time being she could enjoy the feeling of flying in a somewhat secure manner. The gale had turned warm once more. The closeness of the sun was the one she chose to name as culprit. Naught else could attain half as much power.

It did make her wonder though, if the sun was in this day and age as it was how had it been at the beginning? It must have been magnificent. She turned her face towards it. The light stroked her cheeks. She smiled. It must have been so brilliant that one’s eyes hurt merely looking at it.

Before long she was dropped over the wall of Anor Londo in a pleasant enough spot that she supposed must have been convenient. It certainly awarded her a comprehensive view of the city of the gods. “Who could have possibly foreseen this fate for you, great city?” In a way it was pitiful. To have built such greatness and then be forced to abandon it, to leave behind one’s home, one’s life; it couldn’t have been an easy choice. And all of it for the Age of Fire. She headed closer to the edge and glanced down. It was a great drop. Perhaps someone had foreseen that much. She shrugged helplessly, stepping backwards before her mind got any brilliant notions. Better safe than sorry.

She returned her gaze to the proud, towering peaks spearing towards the blanket of clouds. What did one need mountains for when one had Anor Londo? Little could compare to such poignant displays of grandeur. Mayhap that had been a tad cruel of her; ‘twas not as though a lesser degree of splendour would solve matters. Still, when one’s home was gold-plated and shone brilliantly in the light of a dying sun, some might say priorities needed straightening.

Alas, she’d not been asked to submit an opinion one way or the other. Thus her mission narrowed its scope to finding Solaire once more. She took the stairs one by one, careful not to fall down head-first. She had more than enough injuries to look forward to without having her skull smashed to smithereens and end up in an awkward sprawl. Blood was a nuisance in itself. Even with the low quantities needed to keep her in motion, the one that ended up soaking into her garments took an embarrassingly large amount of vinegar to remove. That was if she was fortunate enough to find vinegar. She’d pestered undead merchants up and down in order to get some and still it did not always turn out as she wished it to. Nevertheless, her only other option was lemons and sunlight, laughable as that was.

She reached the end of first flights of stairs and stopped yet again, this time to eye the goliath one could easily make out from her vantage point. For the most part those guards could be counted upon to ignore her very existence. She did not perceive that much had changed since her last visit to these parts of the realm. Which served her purposes extremely well. She continued the descent, slightly winded by the foot of the stairs. It was no easy task dismounting enormous stairs. If only the architects had considered gigantic figures would not forever be running up and down. It might have saved her some grief to have conveniently placed elevating platforms at her disposal strewn about.

No matter. She made her way through the abandoned city, carefully avoiding catching anyone’s eye. It worked in so far as no spears, or arrows, of knives came hurtling her way. She even managed to reach the Firekeeper without once needing to clear the path. At long last the gods smiled down upon her. Or likely laughed at her expense, indulging the illusion of safety until they could be bothered to make her miserable once more. Still, the lull provided more than ample time to steel herself.

She ran across the wide stones leading to the dwelling of the armoured woman. The Firekeeper as was her wont, tended the fire when she entered. A knightess, of all things, the helmed face turned at the sound of her arrival. “I wondered when you would pluck the courage to return.” While her expression would forever remain a mystery, an inkling suspicion of lingering knowing smiles filled her mind. “Come, sit by the fire and rest.”

The invitation was gladly accepted. She plopped down upon the ground, wincing only slightly at something pointy digging into her side. A handle from one of the knives had likely lodged itself into that spot. She sighed lightly and pushed the bundle into a more comfortable position. “What news, Firekeeper?” she asked of the woman, folding hers legs underneath her.

“Little of note since last I saw you,” the woman answered, resuming a comfortable stance leaning against the wall. “Indeed, Anor Londo sees almost no excitement at all these days.” She sounded almost wistful, as though she longed for the times these halls carried within them the gods and goddesses of yore.

“Mayhap ‘tis the crushing requirements that stop quality company from arrival.” Her mind touched upon Smough and his beloved weapon as she spoke. “Or perhaps ‘tis simply a matter of ill-fortune.” She stretched out one hand, enjoying the warmth of the flames. “Alas, Firekeeper, I come to these parts in search of a man. I would be much obliged if you could but tell me whether he yet survives the perils of this life.”

“A man, you say?” the Firekeeper mussed, head lowering as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I shall need a little more to go by. Men are plenty to be had.” Of that she held little doubt.

“He calls himself Solaire and hails from Astora to my knowledge. Has a love for the sun.” An obsession was more like it. She began picking at the loose string as soon as the words left her mouth, worrying the thread between her fingers. “He is rather difficult to ignore.”

“Indeed. I believe I know him of whom you speak.” She gazed steadily at the woman, fingers continuing to pluck relentlessly at the cord, but never hard enough to dislodge it. “I have seen him but a few days past, hale as could be. Giving praise to the sun, I believe is his custom.” She confirmed the description. “Then you are on the right track, if it is him you seek.”

Glad to have at least that much working out for her, she returned her eyes to the flames, concentrating on the dancing bright tongues. ‘Twas good to know there was still a good chance she would find him among the living, for lack of a batter word. “Thank you, Firekeeper.”

“A strange fellow to keep company with,” she was addressed yet again. “But I suppose one takes what one can.”

“You do not suppose wrong,” she allowed, finally ending the torment she visited upon the thread sticking out like sore thumb from upper garment. “Strange he might be though, I find his presence a blessing in some ways.” But then Astora did breed worthy knights, chivalrous and true. She would know. “Surely you understand my meaning.”

“That I do. We all have our needs to care for. And you, I reckon, should not be any different.” Inclining her head, she commented no more upon the subject, allowing the Firekeeper to think what she would, for seldom did intentional ascription of untruths as truths commence.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I was not going to post a second chapter so fast, but I got a much better response than expected. I mean I didn't think I'd get anywhere over 50 views and a couple or so of kudos. So, this is a thank you for your attention, pretty much. Sorry the action part is pretty sucky but, what can I say, I'm just not acing it. :))
> 
> Tell me what you thought of the chapter, if you're in the mood. :D
> 
> Best regards. 
> 
> P.S. The old time-y dialogue is Shakespearean in nature. Tell me if something is unclear and I'll try to explain.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was no sleep for the undead. Not in the manner a mortal slept. Closing one's eyes and giving one's self to the embrace of slumber was a manner of death. Undisturbed stillness sweetly wrapped in a promise of awakening. And no matter how deep the sleep some intervening factor could be counted upon to shake awake the dreamer lost. But that was not the nature of an undead's rest. At the expense of a more soothing manner of respite, the undead took relief by the closing of one’s eyes and deep breathing. Or something its like.

At the moment, though, she was more concerned with the light of the fire and the way it lingered over her tattered tunic. The frayed garb looked even less enviable with all the shades and shadows tearing the gaps already observable wider and wider still. And her constantly plucking at the small ends sticking out had not helped all that much. Much like her lingering near the flames would not work to advance her objectives.

“Thou art silenced, chosen undead,” the knightess noted, shifting her weight from one leg to another. “Forsooth, ‘tis time thou moveth on with thine quest.” She nodded. “I have taken it upon myself to prepare your flasks and bid thee strong arm and sharp sword.”

And that would be the end of her rest. As decided by the Fire Keeper, she stood to her feet and brushed back the hair that had managed to fall into her face. She tied a thin ribbon around the mane and pushed it beneath the collar of her tunic. “No truer words,” she answered. Her cloak, loosely hanging onto her shoulders, slid down a little further. She caught the corners and dragged it back, clasping them together with a brooch. “I go then. My gratitude upon thee, Fire Keeper.”

The knightess, her shoulder falling in a roll, merely acknowledged her gratitude with nary a word beside. Which she’d expected, for the woman surely had more important tasks to deal with than listening to her.

She gathered her belongings, slinging her satchel on the shoulder, securing its weight against her. She tested the heaviness for speed and decided that with all the possessions added, for the moment, it would be better to take it slow. If only her knight in shining sun-garb would do the same. A smile flittered across her lips. Nay, his sun likely did not require speed.

Taking the wide path set before her, she abled across the distance, eyeing the sun shining before her very eyes. The warm light brushed the top of her head, much like a mother’s gentle touch. She leaned back her head. A new day, a new sun, and even more uncertainty as to whether the benevolent light would remain pinned to the vast canvas upon which it rested. But every moment with the sun was a moment not wasted and she had better continue with her task, came the prompt from her mind after a few moments. She raised her hand to build a roof over her eyes. It did nothing to block the light of the sun, but she did manage to catch sight of a Silver Knight.

The Silver Knights were a special order. She’d crossed swords with them before, many a time, and had come to like them best, mayhap, out of the selection of foes found in these parts. As compared to the Sentinels, they were smaller, more nimble and, best of all, not quite as powerful. Although with them towering over her, she was still at distinct disadvantage. Nevertheless, they were an adequate stepping stone between the hollowed undead and the Sentinels hard at work doing their duty. She was still considering whether she would involve herself any further with them on this day. Her main objective for the time being was to find Solaire. If she could do so without engaging in combat, all the better for her health.

When one took on the Silver Knight one ran the risk of grave maiming. More so than with the heavier Sentinels who could be dodged with some prior consideration for their combat style, if one could be bothered to do so. The armour, with all the protection it offered, weighed heavily even upon these giants. It had been crafted to keep them from taking too much damage even during a direct attack. With that in mind, she reckoned the wall between the edge of her blade and the flesh if her enemy was a study as could be given current circumstances.

There was the Giant Blacksmith to consider. Any dent in the armour was very likely seen to by the creature. Forge, he could. Strong, he was. Pleasant, if a little tight-lipped. However that could be just a by-product utter emptiness of his realm. A manner of deifying word, for words where there were none could accrue a perverse amount of power; deifying what crushed him to where words were scarcely used. Perhaps she was simply attributing a deeper meaning to something which led little in the first place.

As she moved between ledged on a wide beam, she saw yet another Silver Knight. This one was far closer. He kept his gaze away from her, presumably gazing upon some far off point, enthralled with the view, caught up in his own fantasies, or memories, or both. Why not both?

She made it safely to the other side and was about to check for any demons nearby when from the shadowy insides of a chamber, a figure speared into the light. Recognition was instantaneous. A hand clapped upon her shoulder, a greeting following; spoken in familiar smooth tones. “Thou art returned, friend. How good to see thee yet alive.”

“’Tis good to see thee as well,” she answered, patting his forearm with an awkward air. “I did not expect thy location so easily given away. What maketh thou of this coincidence?”

“Coincidence,” he echoed, the slight weaver in his voice more pronounced with the closeness between them. “Might be,” the knight allowed with a shrug after due time considering the notion, “Coincidence. Dost thou seeketh me out for a reason?”

“Only that I may join thee. Yonder foes would be much easier to handle with four arms.”  He chuckled, seemingly agreeing. Just as well, for she saw in that reason enough to stand by him.

“Thou art gracious. Verily would I reward thee, but I fear all I have come upon thus far may be narrowed down to a collection of nonsensical writings. All else which was mine to give I have already made use of.”

“It makes no matter,” she assured him, “I am thy true companion; rewards interest me none. These nonsensical writing thou came upon. Where be they at?” He pulled out bound parchments.

“I doubt even thine keen eyes shalt find meaning in it.” Nevertheless, she unbound the bundle and straightened the greatest of the scrolls, allowing her gaze to fall upon the lettering. Whatever archives he had taken them from, it was clear that much care had been put into the writings. As for meaning, the particular words she was reading were the lines of a lay. Not of particular interest.

Her hands reached out for another scroll. Upon opening it she could tell it served a different purpose. Produced with some haste, it bore marks of error and none of the embellishments of the former. Its tongue appeared as none she had ever encountered before. “Is it wise to have taken these with thee? A curse may linger upon them.”

“I much doubt there is a curse beyond that of frustration.” He allowed her to sieve through the rest of the texts and separate them as she would. In the end she made two piled. One for those whose writing she could make out and comprehend, the other for those whose meaning was beyond her grasp. “Shalt thou keep with thee the mysterious writings?”

“I know many a song, knight,” she answered, a small shrug following. “Keep those as you see fit.” The ones which interested her she crammed in her satchel.

“With our good fortune there will be songs aplenty and little else in those.” Once more she shrugged.

“Or it could be a way to find thine own sun,” she pointed out, putting little heart behind it, lest he take it into his head it was a foregone conclusion. “One never knows what the fates decide to throw in one’s way.”

“Ever detached, maiden,” came his reply. “I wonder at thy indifference.”   

“I wonder at thy insistence in turn, knight. But I’ve the grace to seal my lips upon the matter.” He laughed and she did not take it in with ill-will. Some men were more likely than others to heap their burdens one atop the other. What mattered was that she find a soul to make sense of the scrolls for her.

“Well met. Where hast thou thine tongue sharpened thusly?”

“In the halls of a great lord; alas, the sands of time have washed over him and none remember his line any longer.” A natural outcome, she considered, when last she’d heard the sole heir of their blood had met a gruesome end on fields disputed.    

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crist aras! for those of you still caught in old traditions.
> 
> Well, hope you enjoyed it and you're a little bit excited about those scrolls. 
> 
> Thank you for your attention.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Sun lays some traps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“That song,” Solaire interrupted her humming, his fingers ceasing their drumming upon the cloth covering his knee. “Wherever learn’st thou that one?” There was some laughter in that voice, but most of what she detected was longing. For a time long gone. It had been an old ballad even when she had learned its verses. “Come, maiden. It matters little even if it came by way of a minstrel’s wooing.”

“Minstrels?” she echoed ever so slowly, testing the weight of the word upon her tongue. Minstrels had paid her as much mind as she paid them, she reckoned, her lips stretching in a small smile. “Dost thou ken, minstrels have never wooed me with song.” Wine, food, sometimes company. Songs had not had much part in her dealings with minstrels, of that she was certain. Searching long-buried memories, she came up short still. “I have known the song a long time, knight. Methinks ‘tis some comfort from a place much like home.” Not home though; that she felt was much further out of reach.

Solaire reached out and removed the thick cobwebs. “’Tis a song of my homeland. Haven’t heard any tune half as sweet in much too long. _Omnis nexus elementorum legem blandam sentit amorum, sed Hymeneus eorum, iugalem ordinat torum, votis allubescens deorum porum_.” 

No altar boy, that one. The musing rushed through her head just as threads of cobweb fell upon her, the thin silky lines brushing across the side of her face. She sucked in an unnecessarily long breath. Though he lacked the clarity of voice which had made quite a few young boys famous, his performance was solid. Not devout, for the song was much too suggestive for that. Not entirely tumbling in the realm of bawdy spectacle either, for the words remained on a level of suggestions. Despite that, and the gods knew she’d heard enough renditions of the song to recognise one that fell just short of the mark, she found herself laughing softly, the memory of a much ruder version springing to mind; her breath came in short gasps as she imagined her poor companion, so dignified in his attempt, veering onto a different path altogether.

The incongruous image dissipated ever so slowly as his resolve to entertain her dissolved in soft chuckles. “I have impressed you then?” he questioned once the both of them fell in step. Her shoulder bushed against his arm when the hall narrowed. It was she who offered apology and fell behind him. “I see. I have so moved you that you find yourself weak.”

“Thy tongue may yet land you in trouble, knight,” she answered, by habit adjusting her pace to his. “Look there, another chamber.”

The home of gods held many a winding path, small branches of roads breaking off of sturdy limbs, splintering in a myriad of choices until possibility became pain. If one could only hold onto the feeling of wonder. And no knights were about either. She had wondered at that, dreading their presence in the same measure as she wished for it. To not have the enemy before her meant to have the enemy behind, or possibly somewhere near, lying in wait, expecting that sooner or later she would make some mistake. And she would. And every time she did her hope stretched taut and she wondered where she would find someone else to be her aid. The existence of a hollowed creature left scarcely any ports in the way of the storm and without refuge, she shuddered to think of the consequences.

They entered the chamber together. She drew out her weapon upon the first suspicious sound, all worries feeling from the oncoming demonstration of skill come from a pair of knights. Solaire jumped out of the way, but she, giving into impulse, swung her blade forth, sharp edge meeting the gleaming surface of a well-polished shield. It would have been better not to tempt fate by being a couple of nosy fools, alas, it was already done, their misfortune brought about by their own self-assurance. Hopefully, the bad turn would not veer into the territory of crushing defeat.

Following Solaire’s example, she jumped to the side as a second attack was launched and a spear very nearly punctured her defences. But even as she landed somewhat awkwardly, her weight falling onto a single leg as her other ran out from underneath her, pain exploding along the limb, she was not fast enough to escape the booted heel knocking her to the ground.

Hard flagstones pressed into her back, the uneven, sharp corner of a dislodged tile ripped through the frayed cloth of her garb. The force was enough to penetrate flesh as well. She let out an involuntary scream of pain and rolled to the side, narrowly missing having her life ended.

And then, from her position on the ground, she realised that there were too many pairs of boots upon the chamber floor. “Ambush,” she bellowed, pulling out a knife and aiming for the knight closest to her. The thin blade stole past the visor. Something fell upon the ground with enough clatter to wake the dead and Solaire yelled back at her.

“Too many.” His sword cleaved through the shoulder of a foe, sending the man reeling backwards. Her own fingers wrapped around the discarded weapon, using the end to hoist herself up. The lance was only slightly weightier than her own sword. “We have to get out.”

So they did. The door was blocked by two knights. They had crossed their weapons together, impeding any escape. This had been no stroke of luck on their side. They’d known where to find them, they’d known to organise, to catch them unprepared. Someone knew of their presence.

Without a second thought she broke into a frenzied run, bringing the lance before her, aware that she could at most get one or two knights. She prayed it was enough and vented her rage in the form of a piercing shriek. Beside her at last somehow, Solaire guarded her right side. In return, she managed to lure away one of them holding their path. He brought down his weapon just as she called for her companion to speed past her and out into the hallway. The roofs would provide the rest. And she intended to follow.

A perfect plan.

The Astorian knight managed to do just so, knocking the other spear-wielder into the wall. She pushed herself, hoping her speed could match his own. But before her feet were over the threshold, a hand shot out, taking hold of her injured shoulder, wide palm knocking into the sore spot. Solaire turned at her cry. He froze; the hare sensing a predator nearby. He would not be able to defeat them all. Not with them ganging up on the poor man at any rate.

 _Go_ , she mouthed as her vison blackened. Her body was yanked backwards.

Knocked to the ground yet again, she did not see whether the knight listened to her plea or not. Her eyes were closed before a sharp whistle of ache filled her skull, momentarily cutting her away from both light and consciousness. A coppery taste filled her mouth, sliding down her throat, choking her.

Blood. Her own? Had she somehow managed to bite her tongue in twain? Too late to consider the matter deeply. Her thoughts slipped away, sliding through her fingers like sand-grains even as she struggled to keep a firm grip upon them. It would not do. And darkness took hold, locking her away from the last vestiges of emotion.

There was peace as well, though. And the notion, far off and frayed, that ‘twas not death facing her as such. Something else awaited.

Sliding into the great sea of blackness she gave herself over to the warm embrace of the dark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pain knifed along her ribs, running in rivulets to a point flooded with ache. She groaned, the sting digging into her flesh with merciless hooks, peeling back layers of soft tissue and contracted muscles. Her grasp sounded through the silence, ringing in her ears as the steady, solid beat of a drum might. Something else besides called her to. A faint sound. She could almost open her eyes. Her world exploded with pain when she dared move her head to the side as the amorphous mass of indistinguishable being swirled before her. Ever so slowly, the soft light separated from the semi-darkness, shapes coming in leaps and bounds, recognition flaring to life even as pain intensified.

A weak cry struggled to pass the clogged throat clamping down with unrelenting force upon the lone sound, greedily wrapping bony, cruel fingers around the poor thing. The insides of her mouth were dry as sawdust. _Water. Something. Anything._ Anything to quell the burning flame holding her above the abyss beneath, but slowly flickering, promising to gut at any moment and leave her trapped. Anything to lead her out of this state of uncertainty.

The glow spilling from high above caressed her face, its touch a cold thing. Gentle. Calming. Her eyes closed so as to better savour the strokes. Was there no one about? Has she been sent back to the Asylum, weak as an infant , unable to do as much as move. That had to be it. The Asylum. Her mind whirled with memories of past kindness and a deep sense of regret. She had never been able to properly repay the kindness. _Thou who art Undead art chosen._ But she was not.

Her lips moved in silent appeal, parting upon a dying note of muted sorrow. 

Fathomless eyes opened, searching the diffuse, still half-formed world for movement. It came. In the form of a shadow, stepping carefully over the hard floors. There were no tiles to be spoken of. Instead the ground was dirt, dry as well. But there was something there. Some _one_? The footfalls sounded familiars heavy. Comforting. It was the sound of booted feet, of clanging chunks of steel. Her heart leapt in her throat as her mind frantically searched for the source of this swelling relief. That man, looking down from above.

Light faded. She struggled to clear the mist from her sight, but she had no luck. Whoever had come took hold of her face. Something hooked over her lower lip and dragged her mouth open. Protests did no good. Liquid filled her mouth, droplets dribbling over upon the overflow. It burned, whatever they’d poured down her throat, eating away at dried up flesh. 

Voices filled her head. Smooth, lilting sequences of sounds, not quite words. They were strung together and she recognised letters and syllables, but never the whole sense. It irritated her beyond belief. She _knew_ the words. She’d learned them at her mother’s knee, in her father’s embrace. _She knew._

And still the words refused to make sense.

The world was plunged into darkness , her weight lifted. For all too brief a moment she felt the darksign twist and clench, the band of flames tightening around her, squeezing, suffocating, as it had done the very first time she’d been called forth from slumber. The pressure bordered on unbearable. Mayhaps it would break, shattering in a thousand pieces, releasing whatever was within her that forced her back time and again.

Hope faded as well when the pain let up, sudden in its departure, the barb of loss deeply planted into her conscience. She had not escaped after all. Loss flittered through her. Clarity returned upon the heels of disappointment. Her vision, unobstructed, took in the form kneeling over her, “Nay; moveth not.” She blinked, staring up still into the steel covered face. “Thou art weak.” The truth of her words needed little proof. She could not even move enough to bat away the uncomfortable attention. “Drink’st. Fortify thyself.” It was her flask, replenished, but with some bitter-tasting brew she’d yet to have her fill of. “Good.”

The knightess pulled back the flask and stood. “Thou art in adequate condition.”

“For?” she managed. Her muscles screamed with pain. Despite that, she braced herself upon, strangely enough, naked elbows. Looking down upon her front at the realisation, it occurred to her that most of her garments had been removed. Any why had she been put in shackles?

Her question remained unanswered. At least as far as the Fire Keeper went.

A gentle presence permeated the space, energy crackling softly, letting her know she dealt with no other than the master of the last covenant she had joined. Last she had been in these parts, her heart had pushed and pushed until her head allowed that desire. The knightess helped her up, taking some of her weight as she did so.

“Liveth thou by thy word, Blade of the Darkmoon,” the deity spoke in the persisting hush. “To mineself thou hast sworn thee.”

“I have.” It had not truly been a question. The gods always knew where they stood. The Dark Sun moved, energy rippling in circular paths, crashing as waves might into the bars of the cage holding her prisoner. She dared not lift her hand and touch the gentle current. “And my word is my bond.”

“Then to my words listen.” Serpents slithered across the dirt, their dragging forms leaving behind deep tracks. “I have for thee a quest; a quest to find a long lost relic.” Which presumably could not be achieved by a god. She bit her lower lip to keep from demanding further explanations. “Dost thou accept?”

“Before I give answer,” she spoke, her voice as sift as the other’s, “I should like a question, if I may be permitted.”

The Dark Sun’s head titled to the side, golden spikes cutting through thin air. “Thy tongue moveth without sense. I will allow one question.” Even as the words were spoken, the tremendous power moved the way of a sledgehammer, warningly pressing over her

“What awaits my companion?”

“He is of no interest to us.” As though Anor Londo boasted many a life. “Thou must attend me, Chosen Undead, for thy refusal shall be thy grave otherwise.” At the very least she need not worry over Solaire. Her burden lifted, she nodded her head.  The knightess moved closer to the bars, momentarily providing distraction as she pulled out something from a satchel. Her own satchel, if her eyes did not deceive her.

A scroll landed on her lap. “Dost thou ken its meaning?”

“A warning.” She shrugged at the foreboding cautions   

“A promise,” the god disagreed. “Should thou find its origin, a solution might be devised.”

“The author?” she repeated. There was very little distinctive about the hand having produced the lines.

“Mine own brother.”

What choice did she have? It was either that or a step closer to hollowing.

 

        

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Hope this garners some interest.


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

 

 

 

Despite her acquiescing to the demands of godly source, she was no freer than before. Tugging on the thick chain, she tested its weight yet again in hopes of succour. Or at the very least an illusion of it. The metal burned cold against her hot palm; in response she looped the links tight around her flesh and strengthened their hold. Pain lacerated through her limb. She breathed out in relief. Pain, no matter how horrible, was irrefutable proof of consciousness.

How many days had she been locked away? There was no way to tell. Not with thick walls separating her from the vast expanse of the sky and the warmth of the sun. Stuck upon the thought of an absent sun, she heard the hitch in her breath and the break of it upon emptiness. The chain loosened around her hand, falling impotently away as pain fell in innumerable droplets of impossibly dark blood. Like a black broth it leaked onto the tiles, forcing her attention upon the stains.

And with that came the realisation. She was being tested. Not in the way many a god tested those who entered in covenants with them. It was rather a measure of her fortitude, her patience and her capacity to call upon a reserve of trust; though the notion frightened her to the depths her soul yet retained. Trust, the strain of trust being asked of her, at any rate, was that the one which sought active fact to support its claim to relevance. Its very claim to existence. Trust that her actions had some relevance, that whatever result she invited, it would come as consequence and not without reason, that she would be rewarded for her effort with simple acknowledgement.

What a notion that was. The chain slipped with snake-like movement, drawing closer to her, following the pull of her moving limbs. It climbed her shell, directed still by the power of her actions. She retained her grip upon it, following its length link by link until she reached the wall. Her fingers splayed over firm stone. “If only I could see the sun.”

The absence of true light tormented her more than the silence. It was not truly silence. She could hear sounds from without. It spoke of the life flourishing beyond the wall of bricks.

Her forehead pressed against the stones. Her flesh, beaded with sweat, chilled. “If only I could see the Sun.” The low burn, weak as it was, stood a wall between the all-encompassing darkness she sensed juts beyond. A sharp breath cut through her concentration.  
Her own?

Her own. It must have been. The sounds from beyond had dulled into a deceptive silence. Wondering. Waiting. She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. She allowed herself to flat in the unconceptualised world hidden somewhere in her mind. Ever so slowly the cold, bleak shroud of shadows allowed slivers of half-light to emerge. The tiny dots ran about the landscape, and her eyes opened. The sound she heard this time was not her own.

“Thou, unkindled ash; rise.” The voice was unfamiliar to her. It had to be one of the wardens, she decided, slowly climbing up off her knees. Her fingers held the chain firmly even as she did so. To what end? For her protection, she supposed. “Turn.” The strange thing was that the tone never raised nor faltered. He spoke the words in a perfectly flat manner. She had to wonder; how familiar was he having prisoners locked. It had to have been some years. “Did'st thou not hear?”

She turned. Her hesitation was not meant as insult and she feared she had given such an impressions. The armoured man before her regarded her. Absent helmet, she could make out his features clearly. To her eyes he looked a youth, not long beyond childhood years. How deceiving senses could be. Her stare did not waver. 

The man held up a satchel. Hers. She blinked, not understanding what he requested. Fortunately, he offered explanation. “Thou art to come with me.” His free hand worked on twisting the key within the lock. The door opened. He threw the satchel at her. “Forsooth, there be fitting cloth in your bundle.”

She caught her possessions and tried her best not to flinch when his impressive girth followed within. The cell seemed so much smaller with his form taking up nearly half of it.

For her size it had been adequate enough. The manacle encircling her wrist was dispensed with in an elegant motion. Her freedom was as short-lived as her wonder. He did not move away even when her gaze pinned him. Understanding without further explanation that she was to don her garb before him, she unravelled the knot, uncovering attire which might have belonged to a worshipper of the moon. She felt little enough emanating from the cloth in terms of protection or strength. But the she was to face gods, not throw herself into conflict.

Without challenging the man who had moved to block the entrance, she placed the bundle upon the floor and rid herself of stiff boiled-leather and tattered broadcloth. Donning her new garments, it felt almost as though a repetition of a long-forgotten ritual. Though she could not connect it to any overt meaning, her mind lingered upon the queer notion. “I am prepared,” she declared moments later, dragging her fingers through her hair in a rudimentary attempt at combing. 

“Let us be on our way,” he said. Though no chains came forth along with the order, he took her by the shoulder, his long fingers ending in row of sharp nails. It was a remarkable piece of craftsmanship. That was not simply metal, that which covered the claws. It was gold. One would be hard pressed not to recognise the purest of all metals, unalterable, mean to last until the world fell out of existence. The torchlight brushed over her discovery in loving manner. But she hadn’t much time to admire as she was pressed forth, her feet moving with some clumsiness.

Where were the remainder of her possessions? What she would not give for a shard of humanity. Her eyes fell to the darkened skin drawn tight around her knuckles. The bony aspect caused a shudder to wrack her. And to think that after many an experience she still had trouble reconciling herself to the form she would take in death. There was something to be said about the ideals one voluntarily settled upon one’s shoulders.  “Where art thou taking me?” she questioned, feeling the hold on her shoulder tightening, claws digging threateningly into the thin embroidered cloth.      

“’Tis of no import but that thy knowledge be of such nature that thou must follow.”  She supposed there were only so many creatures which would look upon her kindly in such a place. As they passed from the dungeons into the higher levels of the keep, she began to glimpse more and more of what must be routine existence within the walls of Anor Londo.

A few of the more curious souls stopped to peer at them through narrowed-eyes. Some had their helmets removed, other did not. She met each and every stare with one of her own. Common soldiery inspired little enough fright within her. A whisper came. Then another. And another. Whether they spoke of her or aught else, ‘twas nigh impossible to tell. Thus she could no little more than speculate and not even that helped. If they spoke of her it ought not to matter. Words could only go so far, she told herself, returning her stinging eyes to the dried flesh covering her bones. So fragile, so breakable. So very much like the rest of her. What more proof could she possibly require that she was the puppet of some whim?

Thus removed from the heights of hope, she plummeted into the abyss of despair, her mind whirling with possibilities. But then, why allow her any sort of preparation? Why capture her in such a state and not send her back? Like so many other times before. She squared her shoulders, momentarily forgetting about the weight settled upon one of them. The movement caused tiny prickles to bite into her skin. She could not allow herself to be lost in such thoughts. The admonishment did little to properly distract her.  And there it was.

Like the first of warriors standing before the gates of hell itself, she found her courage waning, usurped by doubt and beset by human weakness. Still her body was urged forth. Like she had tugged the chain, she was being pushed. A master over inanimate object, slave to greater creatures than she could ever hope to be; mayhap that did not matter at the end of it all. Elsewise, why opt to ask for her aid in the first place? 

Her struggle to reach enlightenment was brought to an end by the opening set of doors and the sight awaiting her beyond.         

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
